“Don’t come in here.”
And with that, the door was open, he was through, and it was closed again, all before Francis could catch even a glimpse into the Volum room’s confines.
What a strange man. Francis wondered if he ought to tell someone. Then again, was this par for the course with Benjamin? The entire crew found him strange.
Francis headed into the pantry. It was well-stocked, metal shelves packed with boxes. To one end was a walled-off section with a great steel door: the freezers. Outside was a small rack where meat was hung to defrost. This morning it held the clear plastic bag of puceal breasts Francis had set out last night.
Rechecking the list, Francis began to shift through boxes. Potatoes and onions first, for the hash browns, then beans. The toast was taken care of; Samuel baked that in great batches. Francis had watched one day. For such a heavy-handed man, the loaves came out wonderfully.
It was just a mystery what happened between oven and plate.
The eggs would be last, just in case Francis tripped and smashed the lot. It hadn’t happened yet, but that was an unwritten rule with eggs: sooner or later, it would.
As he shifted boxes, he frowned. He paused, pushing a crate of carrots over. There, on the wall behind the racks. It was exposed steel, like the rest of the Pantheon’s bottom deck. A bloom of reddish-brown had sprouted.
Francis touched it, then scratched at it. It flaked off.
“Hm. Rust.”
“What?”
Francis jerked and spun, knocking carrots in an arc across the pantry floor. Framed in the doorway was Ruby Celeste. For all the shock Francis had felt, she looked downright bored.
“You scared me to death,” he said. He held his racing chest.
“So I see. What are you doing down here?”
“Gathering ingredients for Sam.”
“What’s that got to do with the ship’s hull?”
“I … it’s rusting.” He moved to one side so she could see. Ruby merely glanced at the patch Francis had uncovered, then fixed back upon him.
“I see.”
Was she suspicious? There was that air about her. Of what?
Well, two could play at that.
“What are you doing down here?” Francis asked.
An eyebrow rose on Ruby’s face. “This is my ship.”
“Seems like you’re skulking, to me.”
“Well, then. It’s fortunate that as the Pantheon belongs to me, I am entitled to skulk.” She drew the word out, enunciating each and every letter. Then, with a cursory glance about the pantry, she turned. “Pick up those carrots, please.”
Francis fumed. What was her problem? She’d gone from trying to toss him into every shitty situation the ship had faced, to callous and distrustful. How could everyone on this ship be so nice and normal except for its captain?
Well. He’d get off a jibe of his own. Storming across the room, he poked his head out into the corridor.
“I’d give Benjamin a break, if I were you,” he called to Ruby’s retreating back. She paused and half-turned. Listening. Good. “I think you’re overworking him.” He almost tacked on something about the wild goose chase Ruby had them going on, but couldn’t. So it was less of a jibe and more looking out for a fellow crewmate. Good one, Francis, he cajoled. “Oh, and a bulb blew too. Might want to get that fixed.”
Ruby considered the door to the Volum room. “Noted.” And without a further word, she walked away.
2
A knock sounded at Ruby’s door. “Come in,” she said.
Natasha Brady stepped inside. “You wanted to see me.”
“I did.” Ruby closed the diary—that ever-present diary—and sat forward. “Could you close the door?” When Natasha had, she waved the navigation leader into the seat she usually reserved for Trove, on the rare occasions he was in here.
“How has your morning gone?” Ruby asked. It was small-talk, but also pertinent. Ah, the life of a captain.
“Well. Okay.” Natasha heaved a breath. “Could be better.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t know why, but our progress is dropping off. We should be at least twelve miles further along than we are. It’s not much of a difference, but still, our speed is down from yesterday morning, and again the morning before.”
“Have you run diagnostics?” Thinking again of Francis’s words this morning, Ruby added, “The Volum?”
“I think it’s a thrust issue. We’re usually running at about ninety percent, but this morning it’s hovering around eighty-eight. Eighty-nine yesterday. Perhaps it’s a battery problem, seeing as we’re still operating on one. But the batteries don’t power our thrust, so …” Natasha trailed off. A distracted hand raked through her hair. With a sigh, she unfolded and refolded her legs. “Sia’s running diagnostics now to figure out whether cabling has come loose somewhere. I think it may have; the bulb in my quarters keeps flickering.”
That brought Ruby’s thoughts back to Francis again. She pulled the best smile she could, unpleasant though she felt in her stomach. “When you find the issue, have Mikhail take care of it. Just him and Peters, though; I want Evans to keep up work on the condenser.”
“Still not working?”
“No. And the hull has started to rust, too, despite our best efforts.”
Indeed it had: whilst breakfast was in progress, Ruby had dismissed Trove, headed down to the bottom deck alone and scoured for flaking metal. Flower-like patches bloomed here and there. The rust had scratched off easily enough, but needed a proper scrub, and then the hull needed to be treated to stop it blossoming again. That was what Mikhail and Peters were on today.
She’d also tried to check in on Benjamin, as per Paige’s advice. It had been largely unsuccessful; a few words through the barely-opened door, and then he was gone, back to scrawling and studying and whatever else he did in there. A smell had crept through the crack, a touch unpleasant, but nothing Ruby could recognise through their brief conversation. Probably Benjamin wasn’t washing. She’d have to remind him about that next time he extricated himself from the Volum.
“Anyway,” Ruby said. “I wondered if I could speak to you about Francis.”
A suspicious look crossed Natasha’s face. “Yes?”
“What’s he doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“For days he spent all his time either shut up in his room, or staring idly at books in the library. Now all of a sudden he’s everywhere.”
“He wanted jobs to do, so I guess the guys found him some.”
“Hm.”
“He’s a member of the crew now,” said Natasha. “Isn’t it for the best? You wanted a deckhand—well, Francis is helping out.”
“I see.”
There was a strained silence. Natasha’s answer sounded good on the outside, but … Ruby still couldn’t get the other night out of her head. Francis had led an assassin directly to her door, whether held at gunpoint or not. A ruse? Maybe. And now he was … what? Was it really as simple as Natasha made out? Ruby wanted to think so, but …
“I had one other question,” she said, trying to brush the tension aside. “I don’t really expect anyone will know, but you’re the best-read person on the Pantheon, so maybe you’ve encountered something in your reading.
“How would one go about killing a ghost?”
Natasha’s face blanked. She opened her mouth; there was a momentary hesitation before the words came out. Probably working out how best to be tactful, Ruby thought.
“I’m afraid I’ve never come across anything about that. Supposing ghosts exist, that is—which I rather think they don’t.”
“But this Ghost Armada …” The diary was already in Ruby’s hands, flipped open to that final page and its manic scrawl. She considered the words hungrily—then snapped it closed and set it aside. “Yes. I expect you’re probably right.” She flashed Natasha a grin that wasn’t entirely earnest. “Well, that’ll be all.”
Natasha rose. �
��Good to see you.”
“And you. I’ve been rather evasive lately, haven’t I.” It wasn’t a question, but they both knew she had, and both knew why: their eyes fell upon the diary at the same moment. “Keep me posted regarding our progress, and whether you find the fault.”
“Will do.”
Natasha departed. Before the door was even closed, the diary was back in Ruby’s hands, open to that last page again. She’d read it cover to cover dozens of times now, learned as much from it as she could. If only there were more.
Ghost Armada.
Were these the words of a madman? Surely they were; everyone thought so. And ghosts?
But those co-ordinates danced tauntingly beneath.
She just had to know. She had to find out.
3
Francis spent dinner with Mikhail and Peters. Evans was still working on the condenser, to his increased frustration. He turned up just as Francis was leaving, to a hearty guffaw from Peters; Samuel had just packed away the serving station.
“Come on, Sam, you must have something left,” Evans begged. “Bit of toast, anything. I’m starving here. Been working all day.”
Francis left the cafeteria with a small grin. He wondered how that exchange would turn out.
Natasha hadn’t showed, so he followed the corridors until he came to the Pantheon’s control room. Its door was open again today. He poked his head in. There she was, frowning at her display. The rest of the room was empty.
“You missed dinner,” Francis said.
Natasha looked up. “Oh, did I? Is there anything still out?”
“Sam just packed it up. But Reuben was late, and he’s badgering Sam now, so if you’re quick …” Francis perched down on one of the free seats and drummed his hands. The display in front of him scrolled information. He didn’t even try to make sense of it.
“Eh, I’ll leave it.” Natasha sighed. “Fancy distracting me?”
“I thought that’s what I was doing.”
“Hah. Come on, let’s get out of here. I’ve had enough of diagnostic reports for one day.”
“Library?” Francis suggested.
“Go for it.”
They strolled through the ship and headed up the stairs, making small-talk. Though she was tense, Natasha took it well, yet something was clearly on her mind. When they were sat, Francis would ask if she wanted to talk about it.
But today the library wasn’t unoccupied. Stood in the middle of the floor, eyes flying furiously back and forth across the page of a thin book, was—
“Benjamin?”
He looked up. Alarm creased his face.
“Miss Brady. I was just—” He moved to stuff the book into its place on the shelf. It missed, flapping sideways, and fell from his hand. Ben didn’t bother trying to pick it up; instead he sped across the room. Two feet from the doorway, he jerked to a stop. His eyes seemed to cloud.
“I haven’t seen you in days,” said Natasha.
Ben didn’t answer. Didn’t even look. He merely stared straight ahead, somewhere between Francis and Natasha. Francis glanced at the navigation leader, looked backward. The hall was empty. His lips pursed.
“Is everything okay?” Natasha asked.
That seemed to rouse Ben. He blinked. “Yes.” Then he stepped past the two and hurried up the corridor. An unpleasant smell wafted behind him.
“Hey, wait!” Natasha shouted. “Ben, is everything okay with the Volum?”
Again, he froze. “It’s fine,” he said. “Don’t come down there!”
And then he was gone, Francis and Natasha staring perplexedly after him.
“What was that about?” Natasha asked.
“I don’t know.” Francis stepped into the room. A strange odour hung in the air. It was faint and metallic, with a hint of rot. He wrinkled his nose, then stooped to pick up Ben’s discarded book. “I saw him this morning, too. Is he usually like that?”
“No,” Natasha answered. She sank into one of the plush seats and idly spun the globe beside it. “What was he reading?”
Francis showed her the cover. “Book about engineering.”
“Random.”
“Hm.” He pushed it back into its hole on the shelf. “So what was that about the Volum?”
“Ah, navigation issue,” said Natasha. “Nothing too important; we’re just moving a little slower than we ought.”
Francis nodded. He sat. “Those reports?”
“That’ll be it.” Natasha grinned. “Anyhow, I want distracting, not thinking about faulty cables.”
He shouldn’t push it, but: “Faulty cables? Would that make the lights flicker?”
“Yours too?”
Francis nodded.
“Probably. But the reports are … weird.” Natasha pulled a face. “Apparently all of the cables on the ship are operating at a reduced capacity, but our consoles didn’t give us any indication.”
Francis considered. “When the Modicum hit, maybe?”
“Could’ve knocked some loose, but not like this.”
“Hm.”
Natasha thought for a few moments longer. Then she shook her head, spun the globe again. “I’m finished for the day now. No sense thinking about it any longer. It’s a problem for tomorrow. So: find me a book, and make it a good one. If you’re lucky I’ll read you the best bits.”
4
It was another two days later, when Francis was midway through his morning, that an alarm sounded across the Pantheon. He looked up from his diary and frowned. This klaxon was different to the one that had sounded after the Modicum attacked, but familiar. Then he remembered: it was used to announce a meeting in the canteen.
Half the crew had amassed when Francis arrived. Today the growing formation was headed by Ruby, Trove, and Mikhail. Mikhail looked somewhat troubled.
“Morning,” Francis whispered to Natasha as he slotted in beside her. “Any clue what’s going on?”
“None,” she answered.
It took less than a minute for the final few crew members to arrive.
“Minus Benjamin?” Ruby muttered. She pulled an irritated face and shook her head. “Never mind; we’ll talk to him later. Go ahead, Mikhail.”
“Morning, everyone,” said Mikhail. “I appreciate you gathering here at short notice. This is a little unexpected, but important. This morning, during a routine inventory check, I found us short on sealant. For those of you that might not know, it’s the stuff we use to bond holes in the hull. Last time it was used there were around twenty kilos of the stuff left—this morning we’re down to sixteen. What that means …”
“What that means,” Ruby took over, stepping forward, “is one of two things. Either Mikhail made a counting error after he and his team finished patching up the ship’s holes. Or there is a thief aboard the Pantheon.” She paused and let her eyes drift over the crew. They seemed to linger half an instant longer than necessary on Francis, before sweeping off elsewhere. “Regardless, our concern is simply return of the … shall we say ‘misplaced’ materials. If any of you happens to know their whereabouts, maybe took them, replace them at your earliest availability.
“If the items are returned, no questions will be asked. However.” Ruby held up a finger. “If in twenty-four hours it has not been replaced, a full search of the ship will be conducted. Then I will be asking questions.”
There was another pause as that sunk in. No murmurs. After Ruby was content, she nodded. “Dismissed.”
Chatter started, and everyone began to file out of the canteen. Francis wandered alongside Natasha, who looked troubled herself, now he thought about it. He had just opened his mouth to ask what was wrong when a voice from behind called, “Hey, Francis.”
He turned. Mikhail headed up the corridor. He wore an uneasy smile.
“Hey,” said Francis. “Weird, huh?”
“Yeah, little bit.” Mikhail rubbed the back of his neck. “Listen, you haven’t seen anything, have you? You’re down there a fair bit.”
“Not a thing,” Francis said. He paused and added, “Well, I’ve seen Benjamin out and about a couple of times, but never doing anything. Bit vacant. I think maybe he’s overworked. I mentioned to Ruby, but …”
“Nothing else? Nothing suspicious?”
“Not a thing.”
Relief split Mikhail’s features. “Good. Phew. I didn’t think so—and I definitely don’t think you took it, if you wondered. The captain, she’s just … a little jumpy right now.” He waved the thought aside. “Thanks for letting me know.”
“No problem.”
Mikhail checked the clock on his communicator. “I’d better get on,” he said. “Inventorying today—don’t suppose you’re up for it?”
“Ah, no, thanks. I have some writing to finish.”
“Oh. Novelist?”
Francis laughed. “Just a diary.”
“Okay. I won’t keep you. Probably for the best, anyway, given Miss Celeste’s jumpiness. Enjoy your day.”
Off he went, back up the corridor. Francis turned to follow on with Natasha—but she was gone too. His lips pulled into a tight line. Perhaps he’d find out what was up with her later instead.
5
But though Francis thought he might get a moment to talk with Natasha at lunch, he didn’t: she didn’t appear in the canteen. Neither did Mikhail or the others, so Francis parked by Vala and Stefan and listened to them bicker in their usual light-hearted manner.
Natasha wasn’t at dinner, either: not on her usual table, not anywhere in the bustling room. Frowning, Francis wandered to the queueless serving station. “Evening, Sam,” he said, to a grunted reply.
After Sam had filled his plate with mashed potatoes, peas, half a puceal breast and a thin covering of watery gravy, Francis wove through the tables and sat on the free one beside Mikhail, Evans, Peters and Herschel.
“Evening,” Mikhail said, breaking from whatever the others were laughing about, and leaning over the back of his chair. “How’d your writing go?”
“Fine,” said Francis. “How about inventorying?”
“Almost finished. Easy job when there’s four of you. Would’ve been easier if we had five.”
The Ruby Celeste Series - Box Set, books 1 - 3: Ghost Armada, Dire Kraken, and Church of Ife Page 13